Return to the Room of Lost Things
by deadwoodpecker
Summary: This is the first version of the other story. It is also a re-post, but there is a very important question in the author's note!


1.

The day Gilderoy Lockhart died, Ginny was exploring some of the far stacks for clothes she could fix to her liking. After three years here — wherever they were — Ginny was sick of her usual wardrobe. She wanted a different style, was frustrated with the shabby old robes, and needed a change. An old wardrobe, way past the Tower of Brooms, seemed a likely spot. Ginny hadn't been out this way for at least a year.

It was old and the drawers were mismatched, but Ginny found three shirts and some pantaloons that could be cut down to size. "Preservation spells," she muttered. They were very handy here, as were all the things she'd learned growing up at the Burrow.

She shook out the pantaloons, and held them up to her waist, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror. It wouldn't take much. And she actually liked the stripes... they weren't bad.

Ginny gave a perfunctory look around, then pulled off her threadbare trousers. It was safe, she knew. Harry was off scouting for an exit, or new spell books, or maybe even new robes. She hadn't seen him at their camp in a few days.

It was a bit ridiculous to call their domicile a camp, she realized. But what other word was there to describe their hodgepodge living situation? Her and Harry in "rooms" with walls made of stacked cabinetry and no ceilings, and a separate "facility" they used for their chamber pots. Gilderoy — poor, mad Gilderoy — was relegated to a camp quite a distance away from theirs.

It was this place they were in. They'd long ago discovered that if they chanted what they wanted, and thought about it hard enough, they could usually get something very similar to what they had asked for. Harry said the Muggles called this "praying". Whatever magic this place had, it produced most of what they needed. And Gilderoy — who was quite mad — had needs and wants that grew stranger by the day. It was just easier not to be near him.

Especially for Ginny.

Aside from Gilderoy's chaotic wishes coming true, he had taken to watching Ginny in such a way that made her skin crawl. Just last week, something had happened, something had broken between them, and now Ginny felt like no matter how far she wandered away from Gilderoy Lockhart's camp, his eyes were still on her.

 _Ginny flipped through the pages of_ Transfiguration: Changes through the Ages _, looking for new spells that were within her skill range. It was one of her least favorite of the textbooks that Harry'd prayed for a few months ago, when they'd perfected everything in the other, more rudimentary books. The language in this one was almost too dense to parse._

 _She shoved it aside and groaned._

 _Then — without warning, without a hint that something was about to happen — her breasts were squeezed quite painfully. Ginny struggled away, sucked in a breath—_

" _You're my wife, aren't you?" Gilderoy said. His breath was hot in her ear, and he pressed against her back. "The little redhead's my wife."_

 _Ginny stamped his foot. Hard. She twisted and slipped out of his grip, drawing her wand in the same instant. "Don't make me hurt you," Ginny said tightly._

" _You're_ my wife. _" His eyes were wide and desperate. He reached for her. She batted away his hand._

" _I'm not your wife," she said. It was best not to argue with him. Gilderoy was mad. But Ginny had to distract him long enough to get away._

" _You've been cheating on me," he said._

" _I am not your wife," Ginny reiterated._

" _You were with that boy — that — that boy. The one who wants to be famous," he sputtered. He pointed his finger at her. There was nothing else for him to point. Harry'd taken his wand away years ago._

" _Harry?" Ginny asked, bewildered._

" _Yes," Gilderoy said. "You're_ my _wife! And you were going at it like — like krups!" He sounded scandalized._

" _We were just wrestling over a book," said Ginny, not sure what he meant by_ going at it. _Gilderoy was mad, and the things he said often didn't make sense._

" _Wrestling," he spat. "I know what I saw!"_

Ginny shoved that memory away. Over the last months, ever since she and Harry figured she'd turned fourteen, her interactions with Gilderoy had become increasingly punctuated desperate moves on his part. He did not do this to Harry; in fact, he avoided Harry as much as possible.

She was feeling less light-hearted as she continued to search the wardrobe for more clothes. _It's stupid Gilderoy_ , she thought, annoyed.

As though her thoughts had conjured him, Ginny heard him chant: "Ropes! Ropes! Ropes!" and before she could even think, she was pulled up tight against the wardrobe and bound to it. Green, leafy ropes cut into her belly, her thighs, and her breasts.

Ginny shrieked.

"Ah ah, no screaming," said Gilderoy. He strode around the nearest stack. He looked nearly sane, looked nearly like the smarmy professor he'd once been. Except he smelled rank, and there was a light in his eyes that made Ginny's stomach shrivel.

Several things happened at once: Ginny shouted her prayer, she heard running footsteps, and Gilderoy reached for the waistband of his trousers. Between one step and the next, a giant metal trap sprang into existence. Gilderoy tripped into it, and it snapped closed. Ginny's eyes bulged, and she screamed again in earnest.

"GINNY!"

Harry was close now.

"HE'S DEAD!" Ginny shouted.

The ropes fell to her feet, but still Ginny could not move. The trap — it must have been meant for something huge, like a giant — had snapped in half the moment Gilderoy had tripped it. Sharp metal spikes plunged into his chest and stomach. Blood welled up and spilled out — so much blood. Ginny's heart pounded.

"Ginny! What happened?" Harry slid to a stop. They stared at each other over Gilderoy's dead body.

"I — I — I don't know," said Ginny. To her horror, tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

Harry carefully made his way over to her, and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. "It's okay," he said earnestly.

"He said a prayer, and these ropes appeared — and — he —"

Ginny cried against his chest. Her instincts told her that something terrible had been about to happen, but Ginny didn't know what, and didn't want to know. Her tears dried as Harry patted her on the back. She pulled away from Harry, and gathered up the pantaloons and shirts she'd found.

"Go back to camp," Harry said quietly. He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Ginny gestured toward the mangled body. "But Gilderoy..."

"I'll take care of it. I'll figure something out."

Ginny gave him a grateful look, skirted around the body, and headed in the general direction of the camp they'd built years ago. It was unfair that she'd let Harry take the burden of figuring out how to get rid of a body in this place, but with every step Ginny took, the urge to vomit grew, her hands were shaking. She dropped the things she carried and ran for the loo.

Ginny dove for the toilet, curled her arms around it, and puked. Even when she closed her eyes, she could see Gilderoy's leer.

By the time she was done in the loo, flushed the toilet, and cleaned out her mouth, Harry was back. His eyes were tight around the corners. "It's done," he said.

Ginny leaned into him again.

It was odd, thinking that they would never see Gilderoy Lockhart again. Ginny would not miss him — he was troublesome, quarrelsome, and a memory charm had made him strange and dim. But he was still another _person_ in this strange place. They'd been trapped here together.

"It's just us now," Harry murmured.

2.

They slept in the same bed that night.

Ginny could count on one hand how many times they had done so. The first time was about a month after they arrived here, confused and bewildered, and all unknowing that they were going to stay here for years. Ginny'd crawled into his bed, and soaked it with tears. The second time, Harry'd surprised her with a Christmas party, they'd found a dusty old bottle with a fizzy drink that made everything funny until the room started to spin, and they'd passed out next to each other. The last time had been about a year ago, after Ginny'd started bleeding between her legs, and she'd remembered her mother telling her that would happen. That night she'd missed her mother so badly she was sick about it, and Harry'd stayed with her.

"Remember when we had to use chamber pots?" Harry murmured sleepily. "And all our puking had to be done in a chamber pot?"

Ginny winced. "Yes." Once the bleeding had started, a real, true bathroom had sprung up near their camp. It had a toilet, a deep bath the size of a small swimming pool, and a shower room. It almost made it worth it to bleed every month.

They were curled up together like kneazles. Neither of them said a word after that, but Ginny knew he didn't fall asleep for a while. But eventually his breathing deepened, and Ginny followed after him into sleep.

She woke up some time later. Her eyelids were still heavy, and she was still tired... it wasn't time to wake up. Something had woken her.

Harry curled around her. His hand was on her stomach, and Ginny thought this might have been what woke her. Her skin felt very hot and sensitive where his fingertips rested. Warmth radiated outward from that contact. Ginny rested her hand next to his, wondering blearily why it was that his touch made her skin feel so happy. Then her eyes fell closed again and she slept.

She remembered it the next day, and for months afterward. Life without Gilderoy was much more peaceful, but a small change had occurred between her and Harry. They sought each other out more; gone were the days that Harry would disappear into the the vastness of their strange prison. It was rare that they were out of earshot.

This suited Ginny quite well, for ever since she'd realized how happy it made her when Harry touched her, she tried to get him to do so as often as she could.

"Harry, I've got a snarl, will you help me?" And he would carefully brush out her hair. Once he did so for an entire hour, and Ginny was practically purring when he finished.

"My back hurts, Harry, will you rub it? Just for a second?" This during the time right before she started bleeding, and it was no lie.

One day, she hurt him.

"Harrryyyyy, let's go flying!" Ginny plucked the Defense against the Dark Arts textbook he was reading out of his hands. He was sitting in an armless chair, and she stood over him, legs on either side of his knees.

"Hey!" He protested, grabbing for it. Ginny held it up higher, grinning down at him.

"You've been studying too much, I want to play," she said.

His eyes drifted down to her neckline, examining the lace she'd sewn onto the old clothes. She wriggled her shoulders. "You like?"

"Huh?" He asked, distracted.

"The lace!"

There was a pause. "Of course I like the lace." Then he gave her a mock glare. "You should be studying too, Miss Weasley."

"We could study _flying_ , Mr. Potter," she told him.

Then he put his hands on her, just like she wanted, and tickled her sides. Ginny shivered and laughed. His fingertips were on her ribcage, tickling in a way that made it slightly harder to breathe.

Their eyes met. Ginny felt a pulse of heat in her stomach—

—and then Harry's chair broke, and they tumbled down to the ground. Ginny landed on him, in his lap, on something hard Harry had in his pocket. They were flush up against each other. Ginny squirmed, feeling a most peculiar sensation as she did. She got to her feet, flushing.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I... give me a minute," said Harry.

"I'm sorry I landed on you—"

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault."

That was the end of it for Harry, but Ginny still worried over it, knowing he'd kept something from her, probably because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. So she forced herself not to keep finding ways to get him to touch her.

3.

It was right around Harry's sixteenth birthday a few weeks later that he began to touch her without her setting it up.

Ginny had painted giant, blank canvas that had a drooping corner to Harry's specifications, and they took turns using an ancient bow to shoot arrows at what Harry assured her looked exactly like Vernon Dursley. It was a great deal of fun, and it wasn't until Ginny got a cramp in her calf from trying to aim from the top of a tower of furniture that they stopped.

"Ouch!" said Ginny.

"What is it?" Harry scrambled up the other side.

"Nothing, just a cramp," said Ginny. She massaged it with her fingers.

He batted them away. "Let me," he muttered.

Ginny's stomach fluttered. "I'll try not to land on you this time," she joked.

He muttered something under his breath.

He kneaded her calf gently, easing all the soreness away. Ginny reclined with a sigh, closing her eyes. "That feels good," she said. The cramp was gone, and her whole body felt... happy.

"Does it still hurt?" He murmured.

Ginny shook her head. She wanted him to keep touching her, but didn't want to lie. "It feels better now."

He hesitated a moment, then took his hands away.

After that, he touched her regularly and often. He brushed her hair, rubbed her back, rubbed her feet, and Ginny reveled in every second. And she discovered that she liked touching him just as much.

Harry sat on the floor in front of her chair, and leaned against her legs. Ginny took this to mean he wanted a backrub. She grinned, and began kneading his shoulders. Whatever he'd been up to, his muscles were tense.

"It's like a rock," she murmured.

Harry turned his head sharply. "What?"

"Your right shoulder," Ginny explained. "The muscle is really hard."

"Mm," said Harry.

A few minutes later: "That feels so good, Ginny."

There was a tone in his voice that made her cheeks heat. "Good," she murmured. He leaned forward, and she stroked his back, massaging the muscles. His body was so different from hers. He was long and lean, whereas she was curvier. She touched his neck, comparing their skin tones. They were similarly pale from always being indoors.

"Are you cold?" Ginny asked. He had goosebumps on his neck.

"No, I... no," said Harry.

Then he stood up abruptly, reached out for a blanket, and wrapped it around his waist, but not before Ginny noticed a lump in his trousers. _I wonder what he keeps in his pockets,_ thought Ginny.

It was a couple days after they celebrated Harry's birthday that something odd happened.

Ginny was facedown on the soft blanket they used for picnic lunches, and Harry was tickling her back. Not massaging it, but tickling it. He'd been doing so for quite a while, and Ginny's body felt like... she didn't know how to describe it. It felt like it was anticipating — anticipating presents on Christmas morning. Like something grand was about to happen. Her breasts especially liked Harry's fingernails making light patterns on her back.

And then... Ginny felt an odd trickle between her legs, and she lifted her head and squeezed her thighs together at the same instant.

Harry pulled back. "Did that hurt?"

"No," said Ginny, distracted. "No, I — I have to go to the bathroom." She was confused and disoriented as she lurched to her feet. Her bleeding had stopped three days ago. Had it started again?

She closed the door to the loo, and muttered: "Lumos." Several globes began to glow. Ginny pulled her trousers and knickers down. Her knickers were damp, but no blood.

Had she peed? It hadn't felt like pee.

Ginny stripped off the rest of her clothes, and got in the shower regardless. There was a bit of an odd scent, and she washed extra well.

The next time she felt it, she was less surprised. There was something about having her back tickled that she really liked, and whenever Harry did it, she ended up having to change her knickers.

The day before they were to celebrate her fifteenth birthday, Harry'd wandered off to find something. He'd been vague, and Ginny had a thought he'd set out to look for a present.

Fifteen. They'd been here so long. They were growing up.

Ginny went into the loo, and turned on the taps. She tapped her wand on the edge to warm the water, squeezed soap into it. The bubbles began to rise as Ginny got undressed. Her thoughts wandered to Harry, and she wondered if wizards had something like the bleeding, and if that's why he kept something in his pocket so often? She tried to remember if she'd ever heard her mother talking to Ron or the twins about anything like it.

The year before she'd left for Hogwarts, her mum had sat her down and explained certain things to her.

 _It was a cozy morning at the Burrow. Snow drifted outside, big, soft flakes. Ginny was content to sit inside; she'd been out all morning._

" _Have some hot chocolate, dear," her mum said._

 _Ginny warmed her hands on the mug. It was hot, steam wafting from the top. There was cream in the shape of a kneazle, and Ginny grinned. "You haven't made shapes in my hot chocolate in a long time."_

" _Yes, well... there is something I wanted to talk to you about," she said._

 _Ginny's eyebrows flew upward. Her mum sounded almost shy. Molly Weasley was_ never _shy. "What is it?" Ginny asked._

 _And then her mum launched into an explanation that had Ginny gaping with unpleasant surprise. "Well, what've we got to do that for?" She asked, outraged. "Were we cursed? Is it just you and me?"_

" _No — no, it's not a curse. Ginny, witches—"_

" _Why is it just witches? If there's any bloody reason to be a Muggle, that's one. What about Squibs? Have they got to bleed every month?"_

" _Witches_ and _Muggles_ and _Squibs," her mum said firmly. "All women — most women, I mean. It just happens when you get older. You need to expect it, and you need to learn how to cast spells to keep you... hygienic."_

Ginny had been outraged at the time, and hadn't paid much attention to the rest of her mother's explanation. She'd learned the spells — for which she was now fervently grateful — but now she wondered if she'd only been a little more receptive, her mother might've explained what she was experiencing now, why she was getting slippery down there when Harry touched her long enough. Or maybe even explained why Harry had to carry around a — a collapsible telescope or something everywhere he went.

She impatiently wiped the tears off her face, and slipped into the tub.

4.

A strange energy grew between them. It drew Ginny to Harry more and more, until they spent nearly all their time together. It became part of the air around them, and mostly Ginny loved it because it felt good, but sometimes it made her snappy.

Harry was brushing her hair again. It was all spread out above her on the blanket, and Harry was stretched out next to her. Ginny had her eyes closed, but opened them when he shifted.

He'd covered his lap with a pillow.

Ginny felt a surge of irritation.

It was fine that he didn't want her to know what the lump was, but he didn't have to hide it, did he? It just made her more curious. He could show her what it was, or tell her, and explain it, and then Ginny could stop _looking_ for it all the time.

"What's wrong?" Harry laid aside the brush.

"Nothing," Ginny snapped.

"That's a lie, your forehead just got all crinkly. You're upset."

"It's nothing," Ginny said in a softer tone. "It's... nothing."

She got to her feet. "You know, I think I want to take a walk, want to come?"

"Sure," he said.

Ginny was not the only one who got snappish; they seemed to take it in turns. One night, Ginny tickled Harry's back the way he so often did to her.

She pulled up his shirt, and stroked him lightly with her nails. Harry sighed, seemingly content. But the longer she did it, the more irritated he seemed. She finally took her hands away, and he went to bed early.

At least, he said he went to bed, but when Ginny walked by the little room they'd built for him, she knew he was still awake.

"Harry, are you okay?"

There was a long pause. "I'm fine," he said in a voice not very like himself at all.

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, confused. "You sound like... I don't know. Sick, or something."

"I'm fine."

Ginny's eyebrows flew up at the finality. She nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and went into her own sleeping area, and flung herself on the bed.

One day, Ginny tried to broach the subject. They were walking through the stacks, not touching. There was something between them that crackled. "Did the Dursleys ever... talk to you?"

He was idly scratching his arm. There was a crease between his brows. It crinkled his scar. "Talk to me? About what?"

"About... about anything?" Ginny said, thinking of her mum, and how she'd told her about the bleeding.

"I've already told you everything," Harry said. "They talked to me only when they had to. Mostly, I hid in the cupboard."

Ginny winced, her low-level irritation forgotten. "They were so awful," she said. She gave him a side hug, and they walked like that for a few minutes.

Harry paused to scratch at his arm. "I think something bit me... a dust mite or something."

They didn't wander very far that day. By the time they'd filled a pillowcase with supplies, Harry said he was tired, and they went back to the camp.

"You feel a little warm," Ginny said, after they ate. He was leaning against her legs, head on her knee, and he'd barely eaten anything. Her hand was on the back of his neck, and he did feel warm.

"Yeah, I... think I need to go to bed," said Harry. His eyes were wide and glassy. Ginny felt a twinge of unease. Harry was sick. She crossed her fingers as he got up, and headed to his room, scratching at his chest as he went.

 _Don't let it be anything serious._

But later that night, Ginny realized her prayer was not to be answered. She was dozing over a book when she heard Harry calling for her.

"...Ginny?"

Ginny sat up with a start.

"...Ginny..."

She rushed toward him, and found that Harry was very sick indeed.

"Something's wrong," he told her in a weak voice. "I feel... so strange." He was bare-chested and gleaming with sweat. Ginny felt a pulse of fear when she saw red spots all over him.

And as she watched, curls of smoke started to drift off him.

"Oh God," said Ginny, eyes wide. "You have dragon pox."

5.

Ginny knew about dragon pox, of course. It ran through the wizarding community every decade or so… it attacked the elderly and the young. During the last big outbreak, Ginny's Grandmum Cedrella had died from it. "You're going to be fine," Ginny told Harry fiercely. It was several hours later, and she had cool cloths all over him, quenching the fire where she could.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to get dragon pox," Harry said weakly. "I had chicken pox the same time Dudley did…"

"Chicken pox?" Ginny said, bewildered.

"You're supposed to not get any pox if you get the chicken pox," Harry explained. He made no sense.

"The only thing that works against dragon pox is drinking this vile potion every three months for a year. Mum made all of us do it when Grandmum Cedrella got sick… I was five," said Ginny. She laid a cool cloth on his brow, and stroked his flushed cheek with her fingertips.

"It always feels so damn good when you touch me," Harry sighed, closing his eyes.

"I like touching you," Ginny said softly. "I like it when you touch me."

"Remember when you stopped asking me to – to brush your hair, or rub your back?" Harry asked idly. "Why'd you stop? If you liked it, I mean."

"Well, I hurt you, didn't I?" Ginny asked. "That chair you were sitting in broke, and I landed on you. Don't you remember that?"

"Vividly," Harry said. "You didn't hurt me, though."

"I had to have," Ginny argued. "You had that thing in your pocket, didn't it smash you?"

"What? Thing in my pocket? What?" Harry's eyes were open.

Ginny thought he might be embarrassed. "If you want to keep it private, that's fine, but I know you carry something around with you… like… a collapsible telescope or something. I can see the lump." Ginny watched, fascinated, as red climbed up his cheeks. She did not think it had anything to do with his fever.

"That's not – it isn't anything – it's not something that I keep in my pocket," said Harry. "I don't keep anything in my pockets."

"But I can see it poking out," said Ginny.

Harry coughed. "Listen – it's… when you touch me, or I touch you, it feels so good. And it…" his voice trailed off.

"It what?" Ginny was truly bewildered.

"It's my privates, it grows," Harry said in a rush.

"Your _penis_ grows?"

He sagged against the pillows and rubbed his face. "It gets hard, and sticks out. That's what the lump is." He huffed out a chuckle. "It isn't – isn't a – a collapsible telescope in my pocket or anything."

Ginny stared at his lap. Growing up with six older brothers had left little mystery to wizard anatomy. _Or so she'd thought_. Ginny'd used to call her brothers' privates worms, until her mother'd pulled her aside, told her they weren't worms, they were called penises, and she wasn't to talk about it. Or point and laugh. Or threaten them with fishing hooks.

"Is it hard right now?" she asked curiously. He was covered up pretty well.

"No," Harry said. "I… don't feel so good. I don't think it can do it when I'm sick."

Later, Ginny helped him to the bathroom, and let him take a lukewarm shower. His fever didn't seem to be spiking, but was maintaining, even with all the cool compresses. While he was in there, Ginny closed her eyes and prayed for help. When she opened them, she found a book, a cauldron, and several piles of ingredients. Ginny recognized willowbark, but nothing else.

The book was open to a page that described a potion that would provide relief for the sores. "Thank you," Ginny murmured. It looked simple enough, thankfully. They did try to keep up their studies, but Ginny was not a natural potion maker. It normally didn't interest her.

Now it was vital.

The simplicity turned out to be deceptive, and Ginny's eyes were scratchy by the time she'd finished. She'd floated Harry back to his bed hours ago, and performed a simple sleeping charm that would allow him to rest. By the time the potion had achieved the desired consistency, Ginny's back was one giant knot.

But she didn't waste a single second, and brought the cauldron over to Harry. He slept on his back, arms flung out, mouth open in a pained grimace even as he snored. Ginny didn't bother to wake him, but started dabbing the raised red spots. They smelled vaguely like sulfur, and she held her breath.

The potion seemed to give immediate relief.

Ginny woke him after she'd slathered his chest and arms. "You need to check if you have any sores on your privates," said Ginny.

Harry nodded.

She watched as he lifted the sheet, and fidgeted. "Yeah, I have some there," he said. He dipped his fingers clumsily in the cauldron, and slathered it on himself. Then Ginny did his legs.

Ginny was pleased to see that after she put some on his legs, he was able to fall asleep naturally. She stretched out on the foot of his bed, and slept too.

Ginny woke to the bed quaking with Harry's shudders.

"Harry!" she said urgently.

"I'm – so – cold," he said with chattering teeth. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry!"

Ginny sprang up and grabbed the willowbark from the bedside table. She broke off a piece, and shoved it in his mouth. "Chew this," she ordered. Then she climbed under the covers with him, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he shivered. Gradually, his shudders lessened, and he fell into a restless sleep.

She watched him for a while, feeling a tenderness toward him. Ginny did not like seeing him so ill; he was usually quite strong. But at the same time, Ginny was happy to be here when he needed her. The tenderness grew, and Ginny leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Then his cheek. And then his lips.

Then she laid her head on his shoulder and slept too.

6.

Harry was sick for over a week, and Ginny stayed with him the entire time. They fell into a rhythm. Ginny would slather her potion on him, letting him take care of his privates. They would talk – Harry ended up telling her more about his childhood than she'd guessed at. He described his memories as they came to him, feverish, and almost always broken off by him falling asleep.

Ginny listened to every word. Then she told him all the memories she had of growing up at the Burrow. Harry seemed to like those.

"I loved the Burrow," said Harry, dreamily. "I remember thinking how lucky Ron was to live there."

There was a quiet moment when they both wished they could be at the Burrow, right now, instead of here, wherever they were. But it was not to be, and the moment passed.

It was a few days later that Ginny realized Harry must be feeling better. He was asleep, and Ginny lightly tickled his back. She was wide awake, but didn't particularly want to leave him. Now that his fever was gone more often than not, it was very cozy to be next to him. Harry rolled over onto his back with a sigh, and Ginny saw a lump in the sheets.

Her cheeks flushed, and she poked him in the shoulder. "Harry!"

"Whazza?"

"Harry! Did you know you can get hard in your sleep?"

"Yeah," he sighed, and his eyes sagged closed again. A few minutes later, the tent he'd made of the sheets drifted back down. Ginny eyed it thoughtfully.

Later that day, Harry blurted out his own question; it was during one of his fevers. "So you know about – about it getting hard and sticking out. Do you – when I touch you – does anything happen?"

Ginny was a little distracted, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and cutting up the last of the willowbark. "Hmm?" she said. "Oh, no, Harry, I don't have anything that sticks out. Well… maybe these," she indicated the tips of her breasts. "They can stick out, but I don't think that's what you meant."

Harry's gaze drifted down to her breasts. "I've seen that sometimes," he said thickly. "But I meant… is there anything that happens? To you? Down there?"

He suddenly had her full attention. Heat climbed into her cheeks. "I – um. Um. I found out – not too long ago, actually – that I – that my, uh, area gets… really slippery?"

"Slippery?" Harry echoed.

"Like it's wet," Ginny clarified. "It's all wet."

That strange energy was back between them again. Ginny felt something trickle inside her, and she knew that exact thing was happening. She wriggled a little, and sighed. Harry's privates were making a tent again, and that increased the heavy feel in the air.

"Is there anything – do you do anything to… make it less slippery?"

"No," Ginny said, confused. "It just goes away on its own. I mean, it dries eventually."

He stared at her thoughtfully, assessingly, a question Ginny didn't understand in his eyes. Then he smiled a little, and shrugged. He smoothed the sheets over his privates. "You know, I'm feeling pretty good," he said. "You could probably take a break and go… shower, or grab some food, or something."

Ginny stood, stretched, and was out the door before she realized she'd been dismissed. She paused just as the curtain fell shut behind her.

"Yesss," she heard Harry say in a low tone.

Without even thinking about it, Ginny spun around, pressed her front up against the wall of furniture, and peeked through the gap.

Harry'd shoved the sheets down the second she'd turned her back, it seemed, and he had his hand wrapped around his penis. Ginny couldn't see much of it, just that he was stroking it up and down, and using his thumb to rub the tip of it. The tingling between her legs returned tenfold.

Whatever he was doing did not take long at all. Ginny's heart was pounding as she watched him rub up and down; his hips were moving, pushing up off the bed. His breath was labored, and an excited thought went through her: he'd been doing this the other night, when she'd walked by and asked him if he was all right! She couldn't take her eyes off of it. From what she could see, it did not look at all like a worm…

He groaned quietly, and then groaned again, still panting. Ginny thought she saw something come out of it, but couldn't be sure. His hand was slowing.

Her heart was still racing, and her whole body felt strange. She was slippery and wet, and she was throbbing down there. Disoriented, Ginny finally did as he suggested, and went to take a shower. It took nearly an hour before her body calmed all the way down.

7.

That night, for the first time since Harry got sick, Ginny went to her own sleeping area. _Is there anything you do to make yourself less slippery?_ He'd asked her. And then had unwittingly shown her there was a thing he did that made his privates soft again.

Ginny did know there were places on her body that felt good to touch. The tips of her breasts. A nub nestled in her privates. But for the first time that night, she touched them with purpose. She ended up playing for a while. She did not have a hard thing like Harry's to stroke up and down, but she did have that little nub. And, oh, it felt so good to rub it with the tip of her finger.

It got slippery down there, and Ginny was throbbing. Her head was thrown back on the pillow, her back was arched, and she rubbed faster and faster. Her heart raced, and she felt like her entire body was racing toward something. And then it hit her. She felt a surge of pure enjoyment, pure happiness, and she thrust her hips up, now using her palm, grinding onto it. It took her breath away for long minutes. Ginny flung her limbs out, eyes wide. That had been absolutely brilliant. Just brilliant.

Ginny did it again three more times that night, and the next day.

"You look happy," Harry observed.

"Well, you're feeling better," Ginny beamed at him. He was wonderful, Harry was.

"Yes, it is nice to feel better," said Harry.

He got out of bed, with Ginny's help, the next day. They took little walks together every few hours, and every time, they went a little further. "I'm so glad you're getting better," Ginny told him earnestly. "I was really worried… dragon pox – it's how my Grandmum died, you know. But you're young and fit, so I shouldn't be too surprised."

"You think I'm fit?" Harry asked, pleased.

"Oh, yes," said Ginny.

He grabbed her hand, pulled her closer, and tickled his fingers up and down her sides. His eyes were on her neckline again. Ginny put her hands on his chest. He hardly ever wore a shirt now. She felt herself start to throb, and wondered at how easily it happened now. And at how easily his privates grew when she touched him. It had to do with that heavy feeling in the air. There was something almost magical between them, Ginny thought privately.

She pulled back, and murmured: "I'm just… going to go find something in my room."

Harry nodded, and followed her with his eyes as she left.

Ginny reclined on her bed. She had not even bothered to pull down her knickers and trousers, but had her hand in them, rubbing her nub, moving her hips to the rhythm she was building. It felt so—

"Ginny?"

Ginny sat up so fast she felt light-headed.

Harry'd parted the curtain, and was staring at where Ginny's hand was. "What – what are you doing?"

"I – I – I… it was itchy," said Ginny. This was the wrong thing to say.

"Itchy?" He said, alarmed.

"Not because—"

"Is it dragon pox?"

"No!" said Ginny.

Harry strode toward her and sat down at the edge of her bed. There was an urgent, feverish gleam in his eyes. "Are you sick again?" Ginny asked.

He shook his head. "But I need to make sure you aren't. I started itching before I even got a fever."

"Harry…" she sighed. "It's not that."

He was leaning over her now. His hand covered her wrist, which was, Ginny realized with some surprise, still down her trousers. The look in his eyes made it difficult to think, difficult to breathe.

"Ginny," he said quietly. "I need to see you." His green eyes burned into her. Ginny could tell they trembled at the verge of something, and Ginny's instincts told her it was something she wanted – something she needed.

"All right," she whispered.

He eased her trousers off, and ran his hands up and down her legs. "You have such pretty legs," he said.

"You find any dragon pox sores?" Ginny asked.

"No," he said slowly. "But you weren't exactly itching your legs, were you?"

Ginny shook her head quickly side to side. Then his fingers were at the waistband of her knickers, and tugging at them. Ginny lifted her hips to help, but kept her knees together. His hands were trembling; so was her entire body. Harry waited patiently, stroking her thighs up and down. And Ginny let them slowly fall apart.

"God, I love your red hair," he said.

He shifted so he could see her. A small part of her was embarrassed. Privates were supposed to remain private, after all. Surely, though… surely, this was an exception. But this worry was just a small part of her. The rest of her was excited and wondering what he was going to do.

His face was so close, Ginny could feel his breath on her most sensitive area. She squirmed.

"I don't see any spots," he said in a husky voice. "And I don't smell sulfur. In fact, it smells really good."

"I told you, I don't have dragon pox," said Ginny.

"Where were you rubbing?"

Ginny showed him, blushing.

She leaned up on her elbows, and there was a moment that their eyes met. Ginny's heart skipped several beats. The happiness her body felt was more intense than anything she'd felt before. It was overwhelming.

"Can I…?"

 _Oh yes_.

Ginny nodded quickly.

And then Harry's finger replaced her own, and Ginny sucked in a breath. She collapsed onto her back as he touched her, unable to believe how good it felt. He fumbled a bit, but then settled into a pleasant sort of rhythm. She sighed. Ginny didn't know if it was the excitement of having Harry touch her, or what, but the happiness was building faster than Ginny'd ever been able to make it, and it wasn't long before she'd grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand tight up against her as she burst.

Ginny let her legs sag all the way open. Her body relaxed by degrees, and she let herself revel in it. Movement beside her reminded her of Harry, and she opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Do you think we were supposed to do that?" She asked.

"I don't care," he said fervently, almost angrily. He was now beside her, and Ginny felt him poking into her stomach. It was moving slowly, subtly against her.

She moved so she was facing him, and buried her face against his chest. "Can I — will you let me—?"

"Oh yes," he said.

Ginny rolled him over onto his back. She took a moment to appreciate his body: long, lean, with hairs that went from his navel, down inside the waistband of his trousers. She plucked it them with her fingers. His stomach quivered.

Then, with quick, eager fingers, Ginny unbuttoned his trousers. He helped her shove them down his hips, along with his pants, and then he was free.

It looked nothing at all like a worm. It was neither soft nor floppy, but hard and quivering. The tip was red, and there was a bead of moisture on it. Ginny touched that, and rolled it between her finger and thumb.

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly.

She tickled it the way he tickled her back. It bobbed of its own volition, straining toward her. Ginny wrapped both hands around it, and moved them up and down the way she'd seen Harry do it.

He groaned low in his throat.

Ginny kept going until he grabbed her wrists and moved them himself, fast and hard, and he gave one final groan, and white shot from the tip, landing all over his chest.

"What is that?" She asked.

He held up a hand in a silent gesture that he needed a minute.

So Ginny sat quietly, and looked at his penis. More fluid came out. It beaded like pearls in the thick dark hair at the base. It was no longer hard; in fact, it was deflating to look more like what she'd always thought penises looked like. Not nearly so unattractive as a worm, though. Ginny moved it so she could see the sac underneath. Wrinkly, and quivering a little. She touched it lightly.

"I don't know what that is, it just comes out," Harry finally said.

"When you burst?"

He tilted his head. "Yeah."

To Ginny's disappointment, he started to pull up his trousers. "I need to go get cleaned up — I'm sorry, it must be a little gross — I'll just go wash off."

8.

Ginny followed him to the loo. She thought it surprised him, but didn't know why. There was so much more she wanted to know. Like, how long was it going to take him to get hard again? And what did it look like when it did so? Did it happen right away, or did it take a while?

"Are you coming with me?" He finally asked.

"Yeah," said Ginny.

He sucked in a breath, and smiled at her. "Okay. Good."

But once they were in there, it was awkward. Ginny felt a blush start on her neck, and bloom on her face. Suddenly, it seemed like too monumental a task to take off all her clothes in front of him, and it felt surreal that he'd just been looking at and touching her private parts. She thought he might suddenly feel the same way, because he left his clothes on when he went into the shower stall.

Anxious, and not really knowing what to do, Ginny began to fill the tub, adding about four times as much soap to the water. In minutes, the room was redolent with steam and bubbles. Ginny tugged off everything but her knickers, and slipped in. There was no way Harry could see her in all this mess.

In fact, he looked quite confused when he came out of the shower, wearing only boxers.

"Ginny? Are you still in here?"

"Yeah," she said. The bubbles covered her from head to toe. Only her face was sticking out.

Harry started to laugh, and slipped into the tub with her. It was deep enough that Ginny needed to tread water, and she felt him swimming toward her. He stopped a couple of feet away.

"You know, there's something we haven't done, I thought about it in the shower just now," he said.

"What?" Ginny wondered what more there could possibly be.

He groped for her wrist, and pulled her toward him. "Something I remember from before, something I saw other people doing, and wondered why. Now I know." Then he kissed her.

Ginny melted against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He kept kissing her, light kisses, then deeper ones. Ginny's head spun, and she felt that tenderness and that heavy energy all at once. It was almost overwhelming. One of his hands was on her bum, the other in her hair. He seemed content to just hold her and kiss her.

It was Ginny who got impatient, especially since she could feel him — hard again — resting against her. She squirmed against it. His hand squeezed her bum.

As he kissed her, she worked her hand between their bodies to touch him. She peeled his boxers down, and squeezed him lightly. He shuddered under her hand. It was hard to maintain a grip, it was like trying to catch an eel.

She tore her mouth from his. "Now you're slippery, too."

Harry's mouth parted. His eyes were wide and pupils blown. " _Ginny_. I think I — I think I know what to do!"

"What?"

He groaned. "Oh God. Will you let me?"

She nodded, though not sure what he was asking, and then his hands were pulling at her knickers. The wet, flimsy fabric tore, and Harry grunted with satisfaction. He hooked his arm under her knee, spreading her, and sort of fumbled around her parts with his other hand.

"What are we doing?" Ginny asked, unsure.

"I'm — supposed to go here," he said. "I know I am." His eyes were glazed and feverish. Ginny felt a throb of pleasure when his thumb brushed against her nub. She was not sure he was right, but she was willing to try.

"Okay, let's try it," she said.

It took both of them to maneuver him to her opening. Then Ginny felt it, the head of his penis. Harry pushed.

"Wait!" Ginny gasped. That _hurt._ It hurt like a bee-sting.

Harry froze, the tip of him still in her. His jaw was clenched tight.

"Did it hurt you too?" Ginny asked. The sting was gone, leaving a most peculiar sensation behind. It didn't feel good, but it didn't _hurt_ exactly.

Harry shook his head frantically side to side. "No. No, God, it's the farthest thing from hurting."

Ginny experimented moving her hips. The water sloshed around them. It didn't hurt that much anymore, and he slid further in. There was a fullness Ginny'd never felt before, and she sighed, not entirely sure she liked this.

Harry held her tightly, and pushed up all the way into her, bracing her against the wall of the tub. His hips jerked against her, and he panted against her hair. Ginny could feel something hot pouring into her.

"Did you burst again?" She asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I... yeah," he said after a minute. His eyes were squeezed shut. His arms were shaking. Ginny felt a surge of pleasure at the look on his face.

She'd liked it better when he'd rubbed her with his finger, and she told him so. But when he wanted to do it again a couple hours later, she let him. This time, with Harry moving over her, pressing her back onto his bed, the pressure felt better. "I think it helps that you rubbed my nub first," she told him. "But I'm still not sure it's supposed to go there."

"I'm sure, Ginny," he gasped. "I'm definitely supposed to be here."

The third time, Ginny felt it. It was the next day, and all the soreness was gone. She'd woken to Harry at play, kissing one breast, then the other, sucking the tips into his mouth.

"This is... a great way to wake up," said Ginny. He hadn't played much with them, but they were so, so sensitive. Soon, she could feel it in her nub, and when he slid in... that time, Ginny knew.

"You were right, Harry," she said. She was writhing under him, moving with him. Her legs were wrapped around him, and he was moving in and out of her so fast, their bodies slapped against each other when they met.

"I know I was right," he said. "Oh God, it's — it feels so good."

Ginny agreed, and she was nearly there, nearly ready to burst, when he collapsed on top of her, groaning, shooting liquid heat inside her.

"Noooo," she moaned.

"Sorry!"

"When can you get it hard again?" She asked.

"I dunno," he said in a thick voice.

She used her entire body to flip him over onto his back, and straddled his stomach. Idly, she noted that they were both definitely going to need another bath sooner rather than later. Then she pinned Harry down. "What do you need, food?" A plate of waffles — his favorite — appeared on the bed next to them. Ginny fed him a bite, then took one of her own. Syrup appeared on the bedside table.

"You have a lot of energy," Harry said around his food.

"I was so happy, it almost happened," said Ginny.

She got up on her knees and retrieved the syrup. She dipped another bite into it, and offered it to Harry. He took it.

Whipped cream — her favorite — was the next item to arrive. They ate like that, Ginny feeding both of them, still tightly coiled, and wanting Harry in her again. When the waffles were gone, Ginny asked eagerly, "Can you go again?"

"I don't know, it usually takes a while."

Ginny did not know where or how she got the idea; it was born of frustration and delight both. She dipped her fingers in the whipped cream, and coated the tips of her breasts with it. His eyes grew wide as saucers, and Ginny felt a stir of interest against her bum.

Harry licked it off her — then, he added more and did it again. By the time Ginny was panting and writhing in his lap, he was hard again. They did it just like that, it slid in so easily, and Ginny buried her face against him. It was easy, so easy, to experiment with different rhythms, and find one that made her eyes roll.

She clutched at his shoulders. He leaned down and kissed her, hard, forcing her lips open, and his tongue inside. And the pressure built and built, until finally she burst. A cry was ripped out of her as she did.

Ginny fell backward, beaming, arms outstretched. Harry got up on his knees, frantically rubbing himself, until he burst, too, managing to get it mostly on the tips of her breasts.

"That was brilliant," she said.

Harry reclined next to her, a small smile playing across his face. "I get why you were so disappointed I went off too soon."

Ginny laughed.

They were sweaty and messy, but she hugged him anyway. He stroked her back, just the way she liked, and she wriggled with contentment.

9.

They did very little else, over the next month. The only days they took a break were when Ginny was bleeding. It was the happiest she could remember being in a very long time, and she didn't even mind that their books grew a layer of dust on them. Instead, they were studying each other's bodies, and inner secrets.

"You know, I think I've been wanting to do it for a while," said Ginny. It was particularly good food tonight: the items were many and varied, as though Ginny and Harry had been provided with a small feast. She took a bite of a meat pasty, and moaned.

"Eat a meat pasty?" Harry teased.

They were seated at a table like civilized people, and were even mostly dressed.

"No, have you inside me," Ginny said. "I wanted you to touch me _all the time_. You could have laid on me—"

"Don't I do that now?"

"—and it wouldn't have been enough," she finished, waving her pasty.

 **Author's Note:** _It's back! Sorry for being such a yo yo._

 _Hey, what do you guys want for your Christmas present? It Could Be Nicer Being Red? A more fleshed out Yellow Sub epilogue? A totally new one shot? The reunion scene for Room of Lost Things?_


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